


The Upper Hand

by OctoberSkies



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Bottom!Dorian, Explicit Sexual Content, Fight Sex, Groping, Hair-pulling, Light Bondage, M/M, Non-Inquisitor Lavellan, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Tumblr Prompt, argument, pavellan - Freeform, top!lavellan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 13:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5336159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctoberSkies/pseuds/OctoberSkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Tumblr smut prompt: Angry Sex</p><p>Dorian and Varlen rarely argue, but when Dorian finds out his elven lover is determined to join him in Tevinter, fear and desperation pushes him to his limit. However, Varlen is equally set in his beliefs, and does not intend to back down without putting up a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Upper Hand

The door crashed open as Dorian thundered into the room, attempting to slam the door shut but failing as Varlen caught it with a grunt, his eyes narrowed. _Blazing_.

“Do _not_ follow me, Varlen – I won’t hear another word of such… ridiculousness!” Dorian wheeled around as Varlen threw the door closed, practically crackling with unbridled fury. “I entertained the notion at first, but _Maker_ – I did not think you were actually serious!”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Varlen retorted, his face twisted into a snarl. “You seriously think you can just run off to Tevinter and put yourself in danger, and that I’ll be willing to wait around for you here in Ferelden!?”

“Then _don’t wait for me_!” Dorian cried, his voice rising even further. Out of stress or frustration, Varlen wasn’t sure. “Leave me – do it now, or do it later - but you are _not_ going to Tevinter! It is out of the question!”

“Oh _really_? And how exactly would you plan to stop me?” Fists clenched by his side, Varlen struggled not to lose it completely. “With or without you, I _will_ get there! I’m not going to stand around, hundreds of miles away, while every magister in the Imperium tries to wedge a knife in your back!”

“Wonderful – _brilliant plan_!” Dorian decried, throwing his hands in the air exasperatedly. “Why not? Let’s just give them the perfect blackmail, delivered straight to their doorstep! Perhaps I should gift-wrap you for the slavers too, while we’re at it?”

 _That_ stopped Varlen in his tracks, and he stared at Dorian, stunned into a brief moment of silence.  When he found his voice, it was poisoned with seething rage.

“Do you _really think_ I’m that useless? That I’d just waltz right in and end up collared and chained?! I know how risky it is, Dorian – I’m not an idiot, despite what you clearly think!”

“No. You have _no idea_ , Varlen – that’s entirely the problem!” Dorian rounded on him, his voice suddenly low and dangerous, holding a furious desperation that Varlen had never heard before. “It doesn’t matter how skilled you are - how _clever_ you fancy yourself! The Imperium is relentless! They will hunt you the moment they find out we are connected! And Maker’s breath – if they ever realised you are the twin brother of the _Inquisitor herself_ …!”

Dorian couldn’t continue – he was physically shaking, throwing his words at Varlen and praying they would connect. But Varlen planted his feet and stood his ground amidst the onslaught, never once breaking eye-contact with the enraged mage. He took a step closer, teeth gritted, determined not to back down. Not to give in to the fear beginning to crawl beneath his skin.

“Then they won’t find out! I might need to be careful, but so do you, alright!? You’re going to be the one up there on a pedestal, trying to tell these Magisters that the way they’ve been living and governing is wrong!” Varlen shook his head, bewildered. “How can you think I’d be fine with letting you do this alone? You’re going to need all the help possible, Dorian – what are you not getting about this?”

“The part where _you_ don’t end up dead or worse! _That’s_ what I’m not _getting_!” Dorian lashed back, his voice cracking like a whip. “In case you’ve forgotten, the Imperium is rather _cruel_ to your people, Varlen – downright sadistic, even!”

“I _know that,_ and I don’t care! They’re also not too fond of traitors and rabble-rousers, or did _you_ forget?”

“You… _don’t care_?” Dorian repeated the words in disbelief. They boiled upon his tongue. “Really? You _don’t care_ about what… what they would do to you if they found you?”

“They _won’t_ , and if they _somehow_ do, I’ll find a way to—”

His words were suddenly cut off by Dorian launching himself at Varlen, his handsome face twisted in anger and catching the elven man off-guard. In a rush, Varlen was slammed into the wall, striking his head in the process, and found his hands swiftly pinned by Dorian’s against the cold stone. Dazed, Varlen attempted to dislodge the mage, his teeth bared viciously like a cornered wolf as he tugged at his wrists. But Dorian did not give an inch, and he pressed in close. Suffocatingly. His grip tightened to the point that it was hurting, and Varlen felt the corners of his mouth twitch as he fought off a grimace of pain.

“They _will_ find you, understand?” The pure malice in Dorian’s voice sent a shiver down Varlen’s spine, and he tried to twist away – to turn his head to the side, unable to meet that burning grey gaze. “They will find you, and they will not show mercy. Not for _you_ , not for _me_ , not for _anyone_ involved in this. Am. I. _Clear_.”

Varlen lurched forward, but was once again unable to break Dorian’s grip through brute force. As the mage roughly dragged his arms up above his head, Varlen snarled, his eyes flashing in warning.

“Let me go. _Now_.”

“Why? Do you think that you can just beg with those pretty blue eyes down in Tevinter and people will heed your request? _Oh_ _no_ , Varlen. That will only anger the best of them, and encourage the worst.” Dorian’s voice had dropped to a low growl, cold as steel, and cutting just as deep. “If they catch you – Magister, slaver, Altus, _take your pick_ \- you become theirs. In the Imperium you are simply unclaimed property, and they will declare ownership of a man like you in a heartbeat.”

Varlen didn’t reply; the growl in the back of his throat was all he could manage as he attempted to stare down Dorian – to force him into relenting. Varlen was shaking; at least, he assumed it was his own trembling, and not Dorian’s as he held him fast and trapped him against the wall. Perhaps it was both of them.

Suddenly, as though the silence had only angered him further, Dorian tightened his grip _again_ and slammed his lips against Varlen’s, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain from the elven man as his head was roughly forced back against the stone. Squeezing his eyes shut, Varlen pressed his lips together into a tight line as Dorian continued to push against him, the movement harsh and almost fearful in its desperation. Varlen was suddenly able to hear his heart thrumming deafeningly in his ears, and the distinct pressure building in his chest that he had fought off so many times in the past. But no – _he could not lose this_! Not now – not if it meant Dorian walking alone into the viper’s nest once Corypheus was defeated!

In the brief moment of hesitation between roughly kissing and taking a breath, the elven man surged forward, crashing his mouth into Dorian’s before biting down on his lower lip. Startled, Dorian’s grip faltered, and Varlen took the opening. He extended his leg beside Dorian’s, all his muscles tensing like a coiled serpent, and lunged across, spinning the mage around and effectively swapping their positions. Now, Dorian was the one with his back to the stone, a mixture of surprise and alarm washing over his features as Varlen moved in close, his hands firmly upon the Tevinter’s shoulders, preventing him from leaving the wall.

“… I am _not_ some helpless victim.” He growled, using his foot to part Dorian’s legs, roughly spreading them with a rather suspicious lack of resistance. Dorian attempted to lever himself off the cold surface, testing Varlen’s strength, and fixed him with a look equally fierce. His hands were still clamped around the elven man’s wrists as Varlen pinned him by the shoulders, and refused to let him budge.

“Perhaps not now, but you have yet to— _agh_!” Dorian’s heated reply was cut off when Varlen suddenly wedged his knee between his legs, pressing in then up, leaving the mage trapped, straddling his thigh. Teeth gritted, Dorian growled as he was forced onto his toes, struggling to bite back the pent-up moan that welled at the back of his throat when Varlen ground pointedly against his crotch. Then, Varlen stooped, almost biting at Dorian’s neck in fiery frustration, sucking on the skin and prompting a sharp hiss from the mage as he arched under his touch. Sweat began to form on Dorian’s brow from the mounting pressure between his legs, and Varlen continued to ravish the man’s neck, moving back and up towards his ear, nipping sometimes a touch harder than necessary as Dorian twitched in his grasp. He inhaled sharply as Varlen once again hitched his intrusive leg up, leaving Dorian only _just_ scraping the ground with his toes, gasping breathlessly as he held onto Varlen’s arms for support. He smirked against Dorian’s sweat-soaked skin as he felt the mage’s cock stiffen against his thigh, with Dorian unable to resist the mixture of relentless grinding and pressure as he bit back an aroused cry. However, after a few more tense moans manage to slip from between his clenched teeth, Dorian clearly decided _he’d had enough._

Varlen barely registered what happened next. One moment, he had Dorian writhing beneath his grasp, the mage’s shallow breaths stuttering from his chest as Valen pressed up hard against his flushed skin. The next thing he knew, he was in the air, thrown away as though by an unseen force. He landed hard against the wooden floor, crying out at the shock of the impact. Scowling in sudden realisation, Varlen tried to struggle into a sitting position.

“ _Fenedhis!_ That was a dirty move _,_ you _—”_

Dorian was straddling him before he could complete his angry accusation, shoving him back down, grabbing two fistfuls of Varlen’s thin tunic and knotting it in his grasp. Threatening to tear. Varlen could feel Dorian’s arousal grinding against his own crotch, and choked back a moan as the mage leaned forward, his breath hot and heavy against Varlen’s ear as he delivered a low warning.

“You think the Magisters in the Imperium won’t use magic to get what they want? Come now, Varlen. I know you’re smarter than _that._ ”

Once again claiming his lips, Varlen was only able to deliver a muffled protest into Dorian’s mouth as he bucked beneath him, trying to unseat him. After a futile struggle as he scrabbled against the floor, Varlen eventually reached up, grabbing Dorian once again by the shoulders. However, rather than throw him off… Varlen changed his mind. The heat in his lower abdomen had been steadily building – coiling like a knot – and he somehow found his hands working behind Dorian’s back, unfastening buckles and tugging away straps with vigorous determination. Due to his distraction, Varlen faltered, parting his lips slightly, and Dorian immediately breached the space with his tongue, pushing it into Varlen’s mouth to the music of his amatus’ stifled moan.

Varlen’s mind was whirring as he managed to finally remove Dorian’s shirt, which was mercifully not his usual leather straight-jacket (although not without at least _a few_ unnecessary buckles and straps). Hooking his fingers around its hem, Varlen yanked at it, with Dorian obliging by quickly lifting his arms, allowing the elven man to manoeuvre his torso out of the fabric. However, Varlen decided to use the mage’s compromised position against him. He stopped just short of removing the shirt, leaving it bunched around Dorian’s wrists. Surging upwards, Varlen kept his grip on the twisted cloth, using it as leverage to tip an unsuspecting Dorian flat onto his back, his arms now held in place above his own head in a rather sudden shift of dominance. Dorian snarled with an experimental tug, but the vocalisation was breathy and tinged with need as Varlen smirked down at him, straddling him smugly, once again relishing the upper hand.

“You’re not the only one who can play dirty, you know.”

“ _Clearly_.” Dorian nearly spat the word, but Varlen was having none of it. Leaving one hand tangled in the shirt that locked Dorian’s wrists, he let the other roam low, dragging over the mage’s naked, muscular torso, relishing the way his breaths fluttered in reflexive response. Varlen continued lower, his hand brushing over Dorian’s crotch, wringing a keening moan from the man as he attempted to arch into the sensation, but was ultimately denied as Varlen drew back in near perfect synchronisation. Raggedly, Dorian grunted, making another attempt to free his arms but failing rather dismally. _Possibly because he didn’t really want to_ , Varlen mused to himself with a hint of a smirk.

“J-Just _get on with it already_ …!” Dorian choked, cheeks burning as Varlen rotated his hips and earned another cracking gasp.

“Is that an _order_ , Lord Pavus?” Varlen was not playing by Dorian’s rules anymore. He leaned down, lips ghosting just below his ear, his free hand still hovering mere inches from the mage’s straining erection, trapped beneath his breeches. “Ir abelas, but I’m not _taking orders_.”

He certainly wasn’t sorry, and Dorian likely knew it as Varlen nipped his ear sharply, well aware of how much it drove his lover mad. He could hear Dorian’s breaths, shaking and aching as he dug his heels into the wooden floor – an act of desperation. Hand still poised just above his aching crotch, Varlen did not have to wait long for Dorian’s strangled groan to turn into a plea.

“A-Amatus… _please_ …”

“Better.” With a satisfied purr, Varlen suddenly lowered his hand, immediately beginning to grope and fondle Dorian through his breeches, rolling his palm to the sound of the mage’s near-silent moans as he threw his head back. The muscles of Dorian’s throat tightened as he was suddenly granted the friction he had been so desperate for, and Varlen made a point to ravish his straining throat, leaving sharp love-bites on his perfectly smooth skin, not once halting his ministrations despite Dorian’s shaking. Working his way up his neck and past his jaw, Varlen claimed Dorian’s lips with a rough kiss, growling a warning as the mage once again tried to move his arms, only to have them shoved back down hard against the wooden floor. Pushing his tongue between parted lips, Varlen savoured the taste of his breathless lover, who attempted to reason with him through incoherent gasps and whimpers as opposed to words, his hips rolling in time with the elven man’s relentless hand. When Varlen finally pulled away from the burning kiss, he did so with a bite of Dorian’s lower lip, tugging it with unusual gentleness given their inflamed tempers. Dorian panted, face flushed, and finally made eye-contact with Varlen. Those grey eyes were _burning with want_.

“L-Let’s at least not… _a-ah…_ do this on the _floor_ …” Dorian gasped out, still being fondled through his breeches as he writhed, trying to angle his hips away from the elven man’s unremitting hand. Varlen chuckled at Dorian’s predicament, but relented after a final firm grasp of the mage’s crotch.

“Alright then.”

Varlen released Dorian’s wrists, hooking under his arms and dragging him into an upright position. Obediently, Dorian threw his still-ensnared hands around Varlen’s neck and wrapped his legs tightly around his waist, practically sitting on the elven man’s lap. Growling lustfully, Dorian dragged Varlen into a powerful kiss as the elf stood with alarming ease. He was far stronger then he often let on, and too aroused to dare let something as ridiculous as _stamina_ slow him down. Varlen felt he had made his point for long enough – his lover was almost incapable of resisting or arguing, rendered utterly compliant out of sheer lust. Moving over to the bed, his hands tightly wrapped around Dorian’s thighs for support, Varlen threw the mage down onto the mattress, the springs squeaking as he landed with a heavy bounce. Wasting no time, Varlen dragged down his lover’s breeches, simultaneously hooking his smalls for the sake of efficiency, baring the mage to the crisp air. Dorian’s cock twitched in expectation, as hard as Varlen’s own. After all, the elven man’s arousal had been steadily mounting the whole time he had spent teasing moans and whimpers out of Dorian on the floor. Quickly reaching over to the bedside table, Varlen found a small vial of oil that they kept for such occasions, and quickly poured a liberal amount onto his palm. Dorian simply waited, his eyes squeezed shut, shifting his hips in frustration, not even bothering to free his hands while he had the chance. His mind was apparently otherwise preoccupied.

Varlen returned without a moment’s hesitation, grabbing Dorian’s legs and pushing them up sharply. The panting mage was not fully on the bed; his legs had been dangling off the edge; so it allowed Varlen to get in _nice and close_ , a rumble of approval building in his throat at Dorian’s gasp when he pressed his slicked finger against his hole. Teasingly, Varlen circled it, knowing just how to drive Dorian mad with desire, and true to his expectations, it worked like a charm. In mere moments, Dorian was attempting to push back, every muscle in his body tensed with need. However, Varlen made sure to hold off until the mage let out a moan of desperation before he finally penetrated his lover.

He slipped his finger into the heat with ease, sliding into the knuckle. Dorian’s torso stuttered as Varlen expertly grazed against his prostate with the movement, causing his lover to freeze up at the sudden sensation. He dragged yet another pent-up moan from the mage as he withdrew, curling his finger upwards slightly, finding that bundle of nerves and stimulating it with each long, seeking pump. Dorian twitched with every pass of the sensitive area, his cock already leaking from its tip, now so hard that it was likely bordering on painful. As Varlen slid in a second finger and increased his pace, Dorian choked slightly, his head angled back, throat muscles spasming as he fought to pull in air.

Gasping raggedly, Dorian began to lower his still bound arms towards his cock, as though spurred on by the subconscious _need_ for release, but Varlen was prepared. He used his free hand to snag the twisted fabric around Dorian’s wrists when he was mere inches away of reaching his aching shaft, stopping him agonisingly short of his goal. As punishment, Varlen pinned Dorian’s wrists to the mage’s stomach, so close to his twitching erection that Dorian could brush it with straining fingers, but achieve no real friction. It was enough to drive him mad as Varlen went from his long, deep fingering to short, urgent thrusts, prompting his lover’s toes curl and Tevene to pour incoherently from his lips. Varlen only recognised _kaffas_ , which repeated at an alarming rate as he kept Dorian just short of reaching climax, careful to maintain a firm grip on the mage’s bound hands as he kept trying to make some kind of contact with his aching shaft. A fruitless endeavour, seeing as Varlen had the benefit of leverage.

Sensing that Dorian was nearing the edge of his endurance, Varlen decided that it was time to prove to his lover that he was far from incompetent in more than one way. He gave one last press against Dorian’s prostate with his fingers before withdrawing fully, and hooking his thumb into his own waistband, tugging down his breeches. He did not trust Dorian, in his half-lidded daze, not to finish himself the moment Varlen released his pinned hands, so the elven man kept a firm grip on them as he manoeuvred himself out of his smalls, kicking them off with poorly concealed urgency. Varlen was also at his wits end, and as he slicked his length with a shaking hand, Dorian’s half-slurred plea caught his attention.

 _“F-Fasta vass…”_ The word dripped from his lips as Dorian’s fingers curled against his taut stomach, trapped and twisting in the fabric. “Please… _amatus_ … I c-ca…”

A twinge of pity ran through Varlen, but he shoved it aside. They were arguing! This was an argument! _Right!?_ Honestly, Varlen wasn’t too sure anymore. But then he remembered.

_You are naïve. You have no idea. You are a fool. Unclaimed property._

Nose crinkling in recollection, Varlen suddenly shoved Dorian’s hands roughly over his head, taking a moment to relish the way the mage sucked air through his teeth as his aching erection received a transient moment of contact. Varlen teased Dorian with the friction he had been so earnestly begging for, before snatching it away with equal swiftness. With his free hand, Varlen hooked Dorian by the knee, lifting his right leg and holding it in place as he lined himself up, feeling the mage trembling at his touch. Then, with a fast inhalation, Varlen pushed in.

Dorian’s back arched as the elven man entered him, suddenly incapable of producing proper sound as the larger intrusion brought both burning pleasure and the slightest pang of discomfort. Thrusting in about half-way, Varlen then retracted, easing Dorian into the act, conscious of the clenching of the mage’s fists upon the mattress despite the anger that boiled in his veins. Then, in a spur-of-the-moment decision, Varlen released Dorian’s wrists, quickly tugging the twisted shirt off, freeing him in one swift move. Despite the fleeting look of surprise that flickered across Dorian’s face, the mage immediately brought his hands down and around, clutching at Varlen’s back and pulling him closer. Deeper. Varlen clenched his teeth as Dorian dug his fingers into his shoulder blades, caught up in a throw of passion as Varlen thrust in fully, rolling his hips against his lover’s. Varlen lowered down, biting down on Dorian’s lower lip just enough to earn a shaking gasp, before enveloping him in a ravenous kiss, relishing the way the mage pushed back with equal need. Pushed in his tongue and filled Varlen’s mouth just as Varlen was filling him.

Varlen felt his own moan mingle with Dorian’s as he continued to thrust, melting into the mage’s kiss with the kind of heated, raw desperation that often pervaded sex born of passion and anger. Inflamed by harsh words and sealed with burning lips. Varlen shifted position slightly, sliding his lover further onto the mattress as he lifted one of his own legs and rested it on the bed, granting him an even better angle as he pumped into Dorian, whose breath snagged in his throat as though it had been physically seized. Striking even deeper, Varlen sucked on Dorian’s tongue as the mage made a noise trapped somewhere between a whimper and a moan, the sound lost in Varlen’s hungry mouth. He felt those grasping hands on his back tighten. Scrabble. Flex. Tangle in Varlen’s long, silver hair, grabbing it harshly and pulling – Dorian’s own form of impassioned rebellion. The roughness of the act sent a wave of heat surging through the elven man, who swiftly broke their kiss, moving his left hand down to close around Dorian’s cock, which was flushed and straining with each thrust.

Gasping, Dorian threw an arm above his head, tangling it desperately in the sheets, his brow covered in sweat and glistening in the candlelight. A mixture of relief and impatience washed over him as Varlen slowly began to work his shaft, matching the pace of his moving hips. Dorian was already so slick with pre-cum that Varlen did not need any additional lubricant – he just dragged up and down the length, then began palming the head of his cock, listening smugly as Dorian’s breathing dangerously elevated into a kind of rapid stutter. He could tell Dorian was teetering on the edge of climax – his eyes were glazed, staring at the ceiling, but not really _seeing_. The mage was wracked by intermittent twitches that were beyond his control to suppress, his entire frame shaking harder with every gasp and every thrust and every stroke to the point that Varlen was almost afraid Dorian would forget to inhale properly amidst the overload of sensation. Varlen, too, was nearing his own limit, the knot in his lower abdomen clenching more and more with each pump, stimulated further as Dorian clenched and writhed around his length.

Deciding that he didn’t want Dorian climaxing before him, Varlen tightened his grip around the base of the mage’s swollen shaft, earning a frustrated groan from Dorian, who was momentarily jolted from his daze. His grey eyes flashed dangerously and he tried to buck, although found the act rather difficult given he was being held and penetrated at the same time. However, any vocal protest he might have made at the denial was snatched away and replaced by a sharp cry as Varlen picked up his pace for the final time, thrusting not just hard, but _deep_ , skin meeting skin as he held Dorian fast and pounded him into the mattress. The mage threw his forearm across his mouth, biting down on the skin as though on reflex, the other hand still firmly tangled in the sheets as Varlen pushed Dorian’s raised leg back further still, his own gasping breaths now mingling with his lover’s, trembling through the room. Feeling himself close to orgasm, Varlen suddenly loosened his grip on Dorian’s cock, pumping again without remorse, leaving Dorian practically screaming against the sweat-soaked skin of his own arm as he came hard from the mixture of deep thrusts and rapid strokes. After a few more urgent, sharp shoves, Varlen buried himself deep, also coming undone with a shattering moan as Dorian clamped down around him, beginning to flinch as Varlen pumped him through their respective climaxes. Varlen barely managed to keep hold of the mage’s leg as he felt his limbs suddenly began to shake with swift, overwhelming fatigue.

Varlen slowly pulled out and collapsed forward, practically on top of his lover, who was still struggling to take breaths that delivered air beyond his throat and into his lungs. Weak and utterly spent, it took all of Varlen’s remaining strength to roll off Dorian, landing on the soft mattress beside him, the springs bouncing beneath his overheated body. For a time, the only sound that filled the room was of their unsteady breathing, which slowly began to level out as their hearts returned to a steady pace. Swallowing hard, Varlen heard Dorian shift slightly beside him, running his hands over his flushed, sweaty face, still somewhat breathless but no longer incapable of speech. Eventually, he spoke, and the words were delivered with a strange mixture of stubbornness and awe.

“ _This…”_ He cleared his throat, his voice husky and catching. “… I’ll have you know that my mind has not changed, _amatus_.”

“That’s fine. Neither has mine, _vhenan_.”


End file.
